


cheap medicine

by RingThroughSpace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality
Genre: Gen, HIV/AIDS Crisis, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RingThroughSpace/pseuds/RingThroughSpace
Summary: Harry had never really known death.Hermoine had.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	cheap medicine

Harry had never known death. 

Hermoine had.

****

_Christmas, 1984_

_Bump. Bump. Bump._

The suitcase was nearly as big as Hermoine herself, but she somehow managed to maneuver it down the stairs. She'd packed well this year - her bear, her doll, two books. She'd even remembered her dress.

"Hermoine," Mum said, peering over the railing, "what are you doing with that suitcase?"

"I'm packed for Nana's house!" Hermoine declared. "Are you ready for the train?"

"Hermoine, I told you. We can't go to Nana's -"

The doorbell rang, and Hermoine jumped. Was it Nana?

Mum ran to the door and swung it open, a cold blast of air coming through. "Terry!" she exclaimed. "Thanks for coming!"

"Jean," said a man's voice. "It's good to see you. I appreciate the invitation."

 _It wasn't Nana._ Hermoine had _known_ it wouldn't be Nana, but she'd hoped that maybe it would be anyway.

The man came in the door and stomped his feet, shaking off the snow. 

"Tom," Mum called. "Terry's brought a pie. Can you take this into the kitchen?"

Dad came out of the kitchen to greet them, and Mum walked with the man to the front room, where Hermoine was sitting with her suitcase.

"This is Mr. Palmer," said Mum. "He's part of my theater group, and he's going to be here for Christmas dinner. Terry, this is Hermoine, my daughter."

"Oh," said Hermoine. "Is Nana with you?" she asked.

"No," Mr. Palmer said. "Nana didn't come with me. But I have someone who did." He reached over to the top shelf above the coatrack. "Merry Christmas!"

It was a stuffed otter, soft, with prickly whiskers and a bright red bow tied around his neck. "For me?" Hermoine asked.

"Of course. His name is Otto." He leaned over. "Your mum said you liked otters."

"I do." She hugged him. "Thank you!"

Over dinner, Mr. Palmer seemed distracted. When Mum cleared the dishes, Hermoine slid off her seat, walked over to him, and sat on his lap. "Why are you sad?" she asked. "Is your mum sick, too?" When he was still quiet, she added: "Mum is worried about Nana, but the doctors have medicine that will make her better."

"Hermoine!" Mum gasped. "We don't ask our guests questions like that!"

"No, it's all right," Mr. Palmer said. "My mum isn't sick." But, if anything, he seemed even sadder than ever.

***

_Christmas, 1985_

Hermoine sat in the corner with Otto, pretending to read her new book as she stared out the window at the fresh snow.

"Second word," said Dad. "Sounds like - table?"

Uncle Terry made a scooping gesture at his mouth.

"Food?" Mum said.

"No, some _type_ of food," Nana said. "Potatoes? Brussel sprouts? Pie?" 

"Cranberry sauce?" Ms. Fletcher asked. "Goose?"

Uncle Terry nodded, circling his hand.

"Geese?" suggested Mr. Allen.

"Roast?" Aunt Eve said. "No, meat. Meat! Second word, meat!"

"'We'll Meet Again,'" Uncle Freddie cried.

Uncle Terry bowed, and the rest of the room applauded. "Brilliant, Terry," Mum said. "Who's next?" 

"My turn!" Aunt Emma declared.

Uncle Terry bowed again dramatically, then went to sit on the sofa next to Uncle Freddie. Uncle Freddie turned away from the game and looked over at Hermoine. "Good book?" he asked her.

Hermoine nodded. "It's about the ocean." Her eyes wandered again, though, and this time Uncle Freddie followed them.

"It snowed last night," he said musingly. Then he looked back at Hermoine. "You haven't gotten to play in it yet, have you?"

Hermoine shook her head, trying not to pout. "I'll go out tomorrow," she said.

"Nonsense," Uncle Freddie said. "It's supposed to warm up tomorrow." He looked around. "You know what? It's been years since I built a snowman."

"You've built snowmen?"

"I have," Uncle Freddie said. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "My snowmen were always the best. I won a competition in grade school."

Hermoine grinned. "I bet I can build one better than you."

"I bet you can't."

"Can too!"

"Want to try?"

Hermoine looked out the window at the snow. "Yes!"

"Jean," Uncle Freddie said, standing up. "Where's Hermoine's coat? We're going to go outside."

"What?" Mum said.

"It's Christmas," Uncle Freddie said. "I'm going to take Hermoine outside. We need to build a snowman."

"Really, Freddie?" Uncle Terry said.

"Yes." He looked around. "Who else is with me?"

"I am!" Aunt Sue said. She stood, too, grabbing her scarf.

"I'm going to stay inside," Uncle Terry said, pulling Uncle Freddie in for a kiss. "Take care of her, will you?"

Uncle Terry was beaming as they stepped outside. He must have made up with his mum after all.

***

_Christmas, 1987_

The call had come in the middle of the day.

"Jean, are you sure you want to go?"

"I can't not go," Mum said. "I can't let him think that we've left him, too."

"U-N-C-L-E F-R-E-D-D-I-E," Hermoine wrote out carefully on a piece of paper. She had been practicing her penmanship. "G" was still difficult. "G-E-T W-E-L-L S-O-O-N." She started to draw a snowman.

"Christmas dinner is-"

" _Fuck_ Christmas dinner," Mum said. Hermoine looked up with a gasp. "We can cancel dinner. I just don't want him to think he's alone."

"What are we going to do with Hermoine?"

"I want to come, Mum," Hermoine said. She began to add eyes to the snowman. Her Mum looked over at her. She must have forgotten she was there. "Uncle Freddie's my friend, too."

"Hermoine," Mum said. "I'm not sure you're ready to see him -"

"He's my friend, Mum. I'm a big girl now. And I visited Nana, didn't I?"

Mum looked sad - she always did when Hermoine mentioned Nana - but she nodded curtly, then looked over at Dad. He shrugged. "I guess we can all go together, then. I'll call the others to cancel. Get your coat, Hermoine."

As they drove to hospital, Hermoine piped up. "Mum, you don't need to worry. Uncle Freddie's going to get better. The doctors know how to fix people. Dad said so. Nana only died because she was very old."

Mum was silent, and Hermoine worried she'd said the wrong thing. Then Dad spoke up. "The doctors only know how to fix people when they know what's wrong. Uncle Freddie is sick with something new. The doctors haven't had the time to figure out how to fix it yet."

 _Time to figure out how to fix it._ Hermoine didn't understand. The doctors had so many books. How could they not know how to fix what was wrong with Uncle Freddie?

As they stepped into hospital, Mum pulled Hermoine aside. "Hermoine, Uncle Freddie is very sick. I don't want you to be scared when you see him."

"I won't be," Hermoine said stubbornly. "I'm a big girl."

But Hermoine did feel a pang of nervousness as she walked through the hallways towards Uncle Freddie's door. The machines were loud, and Uncle Freddie's door was marked with red tape.

"You're going in _there_?" a nurse asked Mum as they walked towards the door.

"I am," Mum said. "Princess Diana did, didn't she?"

Passing through the door to Uncle Freddie's room was like passing to a strange world. Uncle Freddie and Uncle Terry's house was full of color, but these walls were bare. The room smelled of harsh antiseptic. A few balloons were on the table, but the room was otherwise bare. And Uncle Freddie -

Two winters ago, Uncle Freddie had pulled Hermoine around the garden in a sled. Now, he was gaunt. Sores covered his arms. He pushed himself up when he saw them, but he couldn't rise from the bed.

"Jean," he said, still smiling. "Tom." And then he looked over. "Hermoine!"

"Freddie." Mum walked over and held his hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, now that you're here. I'm sorry I can't make Christmas this year."

"Well," Dad said, pulling a bag from his arm. "It's not traditional, but this year we brought dessert." He pulled out a mincemeat pie. "Store-bought, I'm afraid. Nowhere near as good as yours, Terry."

While Dad cut the pie, Hermoine sneaked a look at the chart at the bottom of Uncle Freddie's bed. "Cancer." Hermoine knew what that word meant - her Nana had had it - but it had a lot of words she didn't know as well, and a few words she only knew from other contexts.

There were a lot of books in the library, though. There had to be a book that would say how to fix Uncle Freddie. The doctors just hadn't found the right one.

***

_January, 1988_

Hermoine walked past the children's section directly back to the reference librarian. "I need a book," she said.

The librarian pushed up her glasses and looked at her. "Certainly," she said. "What are you researching for school?"

"I'm not," said Hermoine. "I need a medical textbook."

The librarian frowned. Adults often did when Hermoine asked for something important. "I think we have a picture book on anatomy-"

"I need a real textbook," Hermoine said. "My sister's in college, and I want to see what she's studying." It was a lie, but at least the librarian seemed to believe it.

"Very well," the librarian said, standing. She walked over to the back and pulled a huge book from the shelf and put it on a table. "Don't damage it," she said. "If you put it aside, I can pick it up once you're done."

The textbook was huge, nearly the size of her chest, and the pages were very thin. _Something this big has to have the answers._ Hermoine had never touched an adult textbook before, but, just like her maths book, it had a table of contents in front and a glossary and index in back.

She flipped to the index, then pulled out the list of words she'd remembered reading from Uncle Freddie's chart. "Immunity," she read.

It was nearly closing time when Hermoine finally pulled herself away from the textbook. She was frustrated. Most of the words from Uncle Freddie's sheet weren't in the textbook, and the other ones - ones like "sarcoma" - were too frightening for her to look much further.

Hermoine looked up at the other shelves and sighed. There had to be an answer in here somewhere. _By the time I am tall enough to reach the top shelf, I'll be able to find an answer._

***

_Christmas, 1989_

"Terry!" Mum said as Uncle Terry showed up at the door. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too," Uncle Terry said. He stood at the threshhold, trying to catch his breath. "And Hermoine! You've grown so tall."

"Only a little," Hermoine said. She'd only grown five centimenters in the past year, but when she hugged him, her head nearly touched his shoulder.

"Everything smells good," Uncle Terry said. He removed his coat awkwardly, then, leaning on his cane, carefully walked over to the sofa. "Who else is coming this year?"

"Just Susan and Eve," Mum said. "It's smaller this year." She looked sad. Mum always liked hosting people, but ever since Uncle Freddie died, she hadn't held as many parties.

"We've missed you at the theater," Uncle Terry said slowly. "There's so many new faces. It's not the same without you."

Mum sucked in her breath, the same way she did when she wanted to argue with Hermoine. And then she let it out slowly. "It's harder now," she said finally. "Hermoine's got dance practice, and our clients are picking up."

Uncle Terry nodded, and Hermoine suddenly felt like an outsider. "Let me put this book upstairs," Hermoine said. "I'll be downstairs in a few minutes."

Maybe if she left them alone, they would talk.

***

_Chirstmas, 1990_

"Another Christmas in hospital," Mum said sadly. "I should have expected it, but he seemed so much better the last time I saw him."

Hermoine blew her nose and looked up from her geometry textbook. "Uncle Terry?"

Mum nodded. "You can't come, Hermoine. You have a cold."

Hermoine nodded slowly. "I know. You should go, though. He would appreciate you visiting him." Hermoine thought for a moment. "But I want to write him a card first."

Hermoine's desk was neatly organized. She opened her top drawer and pulled out a sheet of her nicest paper, the ones with dolphins on top, then uncapped her sparkly gel pen.

"Dear Uncle Terry..." she wrote. She carefully shaped the 'T'. She folded the paper, slid it into her silver-gilded envelope, and closed it with a rainbow sticker.

Hermoine looked at it sadly. It didn't feel much like Christmas. 

_I should have gotten him a present. I could have gotten him some of that scented soap he likes. I could have gotten him -_

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermoine spotted Otto sitting on her freshly made bed. He'd grown ragged over the years, but she'd washed him yesterday.

Stupid. It was a stupid thought.

She nearly left the room, but something made her return and pick Otto up again.

"Give this to Uncle Terry," she told Mum. "Please. Tell him Otto made me feel better when I was sick."

She wasn't a child anymore, but something made her feel like it could make a difference.

***

_August, 1991_

When Uncle Terry knocked at the door, Hermoine rushed to open it.

"Uncle Terry!" she cried, hugging him. She was almost up to his nose now. "I'm so glad you could come."

Uncle Terry smiled. "I wouldn't miss having dinner with my favorite family." He stepped over the threshhold and handed Hermoine a familiar box. "For dessert," he said.

Hermoine grinned. She could smell the pie. _Uncle Terry must be feeling a lot better if he's baking again._

"You're looking well," Dad said.

"I am. I got into a clinical trial. It seems to be working." He winked at Hermoine. "Or maybe it was Otto. I've been sleeping with him every night, just like you told me."

Hermoine blushed. It had been a child's impulse. But she'd felt something when she'd told Mum to give Otto to Uncle Terry, and it did seem to make him better.

"Your mother said you had some exciting news?" Uncle Terry asked over dinner.

Hermoine bounced in her seat. She wasn't supposed to say something - it was a secret, even if she wasn't sure why - but she had to tell Uncle Terry. "I'm going to a special school," she said, gushing. "They've got books even the doctors haven't read. And one of those books has a cure in it, and _I'm going to make you better._ "

Mum opened her mouth to object, but she must have seen the tears in Uncle Terry's eyes. "Of course you are," he said. "If anyone could find a cure for this, it's you."

***

Harry had never known death. Hermoine had.

And now she knew how to make Uncle Terry well.

Somewhere, she heard a pheonix cry.


End file.
